


Exploration

by shhhhhhhh



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Desperation, F/M, Shower Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shhhhhhhh/pseuds/shhhhhhhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has a desperation/piss fetish, Natasha is cool with exploring it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exploration

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so bad at writing porn but nobody else writes Clintasha watersports so...
> 
> I was sober for this one so there's really no excuse.
> 
> Sequel to https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894860 but you don't really need to read that one to get this.

_My place at 7. I’m making dinner. Drink plenty of water._

Natasha set her phone in her lap, reached up, and twisted the rearview mirror so she could check her makeup.  She brushed aside a stray hair, then picked up her phone and looked at the text once more.  She stepped out of the car and as she adjusted her dress she felt a subtle twinge in her bladder, a reminder of how she hadn’t gone to the bathroom since that morning, and how she had been sipping glass after glass of water all afternoon.  She ignored it and walked up to Clint’s apartment, heels clicking in the otherwise quiet stairwell.  She took a second to change her posture, slouch slightly, hands clasped nervously; she was playing submissive tonight.  She knocked on the door, two quiet taps, and it opened within a few seconds.

“You look lovely, darling.”

Clint planted a quick kiss on her neck and pulled her inside.  He darted back into the kitchen, summoned by a loud beeping sound, and she followed slowly, shrugging her purse off her shoulder as she walked.  She smiled upon seeing the mess in the kitchen, counters strewn with herbs and vegetables that had clearly been purchased just for this occasion, a splatter of tomato sauce on the floor, Clint poking at a noodle to see if it was fully cooked.  Natasha continued through to the small dining nook and sat in one of the two wooden chairs, setting her purse down beside her.  She gazed out the window for a moment, watching the cars go by below, until she was interrupted by the clink of a glass on the table.

Natasha turned her head to see Clint setting a glass of water next to her.  He said nothing, but gave her a small smile.  She smiled back and took a slow, delicate sip as Clint turned around to go back to the kitchen, then took a couple large gulps once she was sure he wasn’t looking at her.  By the time he returned with two bowls of pasta her glass was empty.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” Clint asked with a look that clearly showed he had already decided upon the answer.

“Yes, thank you,” Natasha replied anyway.

Clint returned moments later with two glasses of wine and a second glass of water for Natasha.  He sat down and, with a grin, tapped his glass against hers.

“Cheers.”

As they ate, Natasha made sure to alternate between sipping from her wine and the glass of water.  Whenever she did either, she could feel Clint’s eyes on her, which made her both nervous and excited.  She finished both drinks and looked up.  Clint was eating the last bite of his pasta and watching her over his fork.  He chewed slowly, clearly lost in thought, then took a couple sips of wine.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Natasha paused, noticing how heavy her bladder had gotten for the first time since starting dinner.

“…full,” she replied, cringing inwardly at the too-obvious double entendre.

A slow smile crept across Clint’s lips—clearly her words, unsubtle as they were, had had the intended effect—and she shifted in her seat.  He stood up and held out his hand.  Natasha briefly squeezed her thighs together then laid her fingers across his palm and allowed him to lead her out of her chair and into his bedroom.

Clint led Natasha towards his bed and motioned for her to sit down.  She obeyed, sitting on the edge of the mattress and looking at Clint expectantly.

“Uncross your legs.”

Natasha complied, feeling her bladder pushing down as she moved.  Clint took a couple steps back and made a show of looking her up and down.  He shook his head.

“Dress off.”

Natasha stood up and slowly slid her dress off one shoulder at a time, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap.  Underneath she was wearing a matching light blue bra and panties, lacy ones that complemented her pale skin.  As she stood in front of Clint she made sure to clench her thighs tightly, and judging by the sharp breath he took he had noticed.

“Sit.”

Natasha sat back down on the bed, making sure not to cross her legs.  Clint looked over her once more, turned around, and walked toward the door.

“Don’t move,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Natasha sat as still as she could, knowing that Clint could return at any moment.  Seconds turned into minutes as she listened to the faint noises of him in the kitchen, it sounded like he was washing dishes.  Suddenly, the water and wine she had at dinner hit her bladder all at once.  She instinctively shoved her hand in between her legs and pressed hard.  The dull ache had turned into something she could not ignore and for a second she felt like she might lose control entirely.

_No, I have to wait for Clint._

Natasha took a deep breath and steadied herself.  She could do this.  Rather than thinking about the pain, she focused on how she could feel her bladder against her G spot.  She rocked back and forth on her hand, feeling the crotch of her panties beginning to dampen with arousal.

“Ooh, bad girl.”

Natasha jumped, barely managing to keep herself from leaking, as Clint appeared in the doorway.

“I thought I told you not to move,” he said, crossing the room to stand over her.  He grabbed her wrists and roughly pulled her into a standing position.  Natasha let out a gasp as she let out a small squirt into her panties.  She squeezed her legs tightly to regain control, as her hands could not reach her crotch with Clint still restraining them.

“Stand still,” Clint rumbled, leaning into Natasha’s ear and lowering her hands to her sides.  He let go of her wrists and ran his hands up her back as he kissed her neck.  He unhooked her bra and slowly slid it down until the straps were off her arms, then dropped it on the floor next to them.  His hands and lips moved to her stomach and slowly downward.  He grabbed her hips, lightly pressing his thumbs into her bladder and making her gasp, then hooking them into her panties and pulling them down to the floor.  Natasha lifted one foot and then the other to allow Clint to remove them entirely.

“Oh, did you have an accident?” Clint asked as he noticed the wet spot in Natasha’s panties.  He held them up to her face, close enough that she could smell them.  She refused to look him in the eye.

“Let’s take you somewhere you can’t make a mess.”

Clint dropped the panties and grabbed Natasha’s wrists again.  He began leading her in the direction of the bathroom and she hobbled slowly, keeping her thighs clenched as tight as possible.  Every small step she took jostled her bladder uncomfortably and it took all her concentration to keep from leaking again.

After an agonizing minute, Natasha found herself standing in the bathtub, legs pressed together.  She glanced over at Clint, who was pulling off his shirt, and noticed that he was hard beneath his jeans.  He leaned over and turned on the shower.

“Fuck,” whispered Natasha as she felt another bladder spasm.  The warm water falling on her head, dripping over her body, pooling onto the floor—it was almost too much.

“Clint, I’m gonna…”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence.  Her bladder gave out, a slow trickle at first, then a hard stream.  She spread her legs to give Clint a better view; he was leaning against the counter, breathing heavily, unbuttoning his jeans and stroking himself as he watched Natasha.  Her head fell back against the tiles from the sheer relief of no longer having to hold, and she let out a soft moan, still peeing heavily.  After what felt like an eternity her stream stopped and she looked at Clint.  He was still staring at her, his eyes almost predatory, his cock poking out of his jeans, rock hard and dripping.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Clint said, shedding the jeans entirely.

Clint joined Natasha in the bathtub and, kneeling down, shoved his tongue into her wet pussy.  She gasped; she was still sensitive after holding for so long.  He widened his tongue and licked long and slow, savoring the taste.  She moaned and dug her fingers into his hair, he responded by shoving his tongue as far into her as he could, his nose pressing into her clit and his fingers digging into her thighs.  He lifted his head to plant gentle kisses on her stomach, working his way upward until his mouth was on her neck.

“Tell me you want it,” Clint whispered into Natasha’s soft skin.

“I want…” Natasha’s reply was cut off by a gasp as Clint entered her.

They stood still for a moment, pressed together, each one feeling the other’s breath on their neck.  Natasha wrapped her legs around Clint’s waist and released a few more drops of urine onto his cock.

“Fuck…Tasha…” he moaned, bucking his hips and thrusting deeper into her.  From that point, Natasha could do nothing but cling to him as he fucked her against the shower wall.  She came, moaning into his shoulder, and the feeling of her pulsing around him sent Clint over the edge as well.

Natasha clung to Clint for a minute, smiling and panting, then slid off him, bracing herself against the wall in case her wobbling legs gave out.  Her pussy was still throbbing, both from the sex and from emptying her bladder.  Clint grinned and pulled her in for a kiss.

“Did you like that?” he asked, twirling a strand of her wet hair through his fingers.

Natasha nodded, still too breathless to speak.

“Good,” said Clint as he bent over to turn off the water.  “We’ll have to do it again.”


End file.
